


The unspoken rule

by toxicbolts



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Cultural Differences, Fluff, Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 15:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14240721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toxicbolts/pseuds/toxicbolts
Summary: There’s an unspoken rule among the Shepherds, and probably among every single army that deserves such a denomination. Don’t ask about someone’s scars if they don’t bring the issue up themselves.





	The unspoken rule

There’s an unspoken rule among the Shepherds, and probably among every single army that deserves such a denomination. Don’t ask about someone’s scars if they don’t bring the issue up themselves.

Frederick knows the rules. He has spent all of his life learning not only about the Royal Court and their manners, but about those who apply to the battlefield, as well. It’s his duty as a Royal Knight, after all. 

It’s something he has learnt to enjoy. Knowing how reliable others find him. Specially the Royal Family. Feeling useful, and needed. Their words of gratitude are music to his ears, and the best encouragement he could hope for to keep working hard. Nevertheless, and no matter what some of the Shepherds may think, he does not only care about the Royal Family, even if Chrom and Lissa are his top priority. He cares about all of them, individually, and as a group. He mends their tents, makes sure no wild animals are around (even if fear almost overcomes him in the process), and even gets rid of the pebbles that are or may be in the way.

They all know he won’t step on their boundaries, not consciously, at least (he tries not to get reminded of the naked Chrom episode, with no avail). He was not nicknamed “Frederick The Wary” for nothing, after all. 

The thing about boundaries, unluckily, is that not every comrade has the same ones. Nor they know when they are stepping on his.

Maybe it’s a cultural thing, he wonders. Cherche and Virion have similarities with Ylisseans about that matter. Not that Virion would be a person to talk to about courtesy, exactly. Tharja and Henry, in the other hand…

There must be something different about Plegians. It’s probably that. Their clothes would be considered improper in Ylisse, but their dark and provocative robes seem to be considered fashionable in Plegia. Their sharp words too, probably.

Speaking about Plegians. Henry has come to train, again. Well, training is an overstatement. He has just come to watch, as usual. Frederick is getting to convince him to train more and more often lately, and he takes that as a little victory.

Frederick does not understand what it’s so interesting about watching him swinging weapons against dummies. Not many people seem to like showing up for his early training sessions (Frederick's Fanatical Fitness Hour, as they all call it), so, in the end, he ends up having to do everything himself. Reliable, as always, as his Lord would say. He takes it with pride.

Nevertheless, Henry watches with his ever present smile. He almost can feel the sharp violet eyes scrutinising him, and a part of him tenses.

Henry is like a wild animal, if just way tinier. Frederick is afraid of big beasts, and knows Henry has the spirit of one, concentrated in a fairly small vessel. He is not afraid of Henry, though. Never has, never will. Wary about him at first, probably. Curious, maybe. He is a dark mage, and a Plegian, after all.

Henry has his own brand of wariness. False straight answers when he does not want to be completely honest (he has never told a lie, that much Frederick knows), or quizzly ones when he is feeling adventurous. If Olivia’s intuition is to be trusted (and it usually is), there is much more to Henry’s attitude than an eternal smile and an apparent lack of regard towards anything that is not killing.

Frederick does not enjoy violence, and can appreciate the cleanliness which Henry uses to battle. Black magic is not bloody, or messy, generally speaking. It’s Henry himself who makes it messy when he wants to. Frederick doesn’t understand why would he ever want to.

Henry is still looking at him with attentive eyes, and the sword feels a little heavier in his hands.

“Enjoying yourself?” Frederick asks, without looking at him, the poor dummy shattered and barely holding itself together.

“Plenty.” is Henry’s answer, and Frederick stomach twists a little, not expecting it. It’s not uncomfortable, or unpleasant. He just cannot place the feeling, and Henry’s answer. “I was thinking, you know?”

“About?” Frederick inquires, maybe a little too dryly, still trying to concentrate on his training.

“Your hands. All of those scars.”

Frederick thinks about the unspoken rule. Don’t ask about someone’s scars if they don’t bring the issue up themselves. Of course Henry doesn’t care about something like that. Maybe he doesn’t even know that’s supposed to be something to expect from him. Chrom and Lissa, even more now to honor their sister, have told him many times to be empathetic, and to try to judge less. They seem to care less about common courtesy than Frederick himself does, at least.

He stops, and looks at Henry, trying not to give it too much thought. That’s just how Henry is. Out of the battlefield, he means no harm, he knows that. He is close to Ricken, and fiercely protects him. No, they protect each other, and Ricken, young and innocent he might be, knows how to discern the ones who deserve his trust and friendship.

So, he decides to trust a little more, too. Henry’s smile widens when he leaves his sword and gets closer to him, sighing.

“Why the interest? if I may ask.” he says, showing his palms to Henry, who takes them between his hands to look at them closer, gently. Too gently for someone who enjoys causing pain to his enemies so much. Frederick can feel his heart drumming inside of his ears, and he wonders about the necessity of the gesture. Henry seems to be transfixed enough, though, looking at the calloused palms in awe, at the tiny scars on his fingertips, different to those archers have, but still there.

“I like scars. And I like you, too.”

Frederick can feel himself frowning, his heartbeat louder and louder. He does not understand what exactly Henry means with that, but the apparent friendliness and closeness is enough to make his mind wonder.

“You like me? Why?” he almost punches himself because of his lack of eloquence. He is just so lost about Henry’s words, he does not even know how to react to them.

Henry looks up, to his face, and his smile gets tinier. More genuine.

“Why not? You are nice. You care.”

“I care?”

“Yeah! You know. Always making sure we are all healthy and in good spirits. You’re a sweet guy.”

Frederick is definitely blushing, his hands shaking a little, slightly sweaty, between Henry’s own.

He had always thought that, for Henry, he was just a faceless blob on a horse. A particularly big and intimidating one, maybe, always shouting orders in the battlefield, but nothing more, and nothing else. He was wrong, after all.

“Is that the reason you come to watch me train often?”

“Yeah! You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“This is not about enjoying myself, Henry…”

Henry laughs, as if he knew a dirty little secret that nobody was aware of. Frederick is not, at least.

“Whatever you say, Sir Frederick, The Wary.” Henry concedes, and drops the issue. 

Henry’s hands move, and, this time, it’s his hands which are between Frederick’s, not so subtly inviting him to take a look. Frederick blinks in confusion, and looks at a very calm Henry, who just shrugs in a casual manner.

“It’s only fair.”

He accepts Henry’s reasoning, brown eyes slowly leaving the cheerful face to concentrate on his hands.

To say he gets surprised would be an understatement.

He has seen the hands of mages. Miriel’s hands have slight burns on the fingertips, her inclination towards fire magic making her fingers slightly numb to touch. Ricken’s fingers seem to move the air unconsciously, slightly vibrating even when they’re relaxed, what makes it a little more difficult to bandage his hands. Lissa and Maribelle, who focus on healing, have soft fingers that almost heal minor injuries without casting a spell, their skin always young, always re-invigorating themselves.

Henry’s hands are nothing like that.

It would be hard to describe out loud, if they asked him about it. It’s as if the fingertips were losing matter, translucent and decaying, greyish, dying, but full of dark energy that makes his hair bristle even before he touches them with his own.

Naga be praised, he did not expect to be touching Henry’s fingers like this. His heart is going to burst from his chest, and he can feel it drumming hard against his eardrums.

“Your blood is really restless right now, Frederick, the Wary.”

Henry’s observation makes his hands shake, embarrassed.

“Forgive me, I-”

“Nothing to apologize for! My blood is feeling fidgety, too! Almost as if I had been cursed!”

Frederick knows for a fact this is not the effect of a curse, or any kind of dark magic.

“You like me, too, don’t you?”

Frederick, like Henry, does not like lying. Lies are not for honorable people. It’s better to just avoid answering, than lying. The thing is, that Frederick would like to answer, would like to speak the truth, but the truth cannot protect his pride, and his mind is still full of doubts.

“Ah! Don’t worry, take your time. Think about it, sleep on it, or something. I think I know the answer, though.”

They are still kind of holding hands. His palms are sweaty, and Henry’s fingertips brush against his, slowly, without a second thought, just a brutal spontaneity. It gives him goosebumps, the good kind.

“Will… Will you come to train tomorrow?” it’s all he’s able to utter. Henry smiles, because of course he does. Even if, strangely, this time it looks completely genuine. It looks real. Less like a predator eyeing its prey, and more like a man looking at a loved one with tender eyes.

“You bet!” Henry promises, their hands still touching, and Frederick swallows. He does want to kiss that little and mischievous smile of his, he realises.

A crow lands on Frederick’s armor, cawing excitedly, and he cannot find the strength to care. Praise Naga, he is certainly, and extremely doomed.

**Author's Note:**

> *fingerguns* Hey, this is supposed to be a crack ship but it ruined my life, so suffer with me.
> 
> Also please, for the love of God, create healthy content for it. We need more healthy stuff. Even more if it's for Henry, the guy gets used by authors for terrible stuff and I'm tired.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
